


A Bad Day

by JoHaust



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Watson is a Good Friend, Male Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 02:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoHaust/pseuds/JoHaust
Summary: John gets home from a long shift at the surgery and comes home to find that Sherlock is bored again. But maybe it’s more than boredom that’s bothering Sherlock this time.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	A Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own anything sadly.

I’m more used to the eccentrics of my reckless flatmate. I still can’t believe that Sherlock is back. After nearly three years away it is as impossible to believe as the rest of London thought his deductions are. As it were the genius is still an insensible git as far as how to alleviate boredom is concerned.  
After a twelve hour shift at the surgery I‘m welcome home with the sound of my Browning firing into the plaster. No matter how carefully hidden I thought I had stashed it the gun always found itself aimed at the smiley face spay painted on Mrs. Hudson’s wall. This is not what I want to be dealing with at the moment. I want to eat something then sleep. The gun goes off again sending its echoes ringing through the building. I know that my pounding heart and the duck lower to the stairs is justified due to every other time the gun is fired it is at myself or Sherlock. So Mrs. Hudson bumbling about at the bottom of the stairs is understandable to me, I’m really not too happy about the prospect of having to deal with a bored Sherlock.  
“For God’s sake Sherlock,” I shout making my way up the stairs while grumbling obscenities about boredom, Brownings, and pompous geniuses well aware Sherlock could hear me even through the closed door. I hear Mrs. Hudson chuckling when she closes her door after my assent up the rest of the stairs.  
Sherlock has draped himself dramatically over the worn armchair before discharging the gun into the wall again, his thin blue house robe hanging uselessly over the edge.  
“Bloody hell sherlock,” I shout. Ducking at the sound.  
“I’m bored John,” Sherlock shouts, firing at the wall with a renewed vigor, as though it had just personally offended the detective.  
“Give me the gun back, Sherlock,” I sigh and ran a tired hand through my hair.  
“Well now what am I supposed to do John,” Sherlock asked, hissing my name like a curse.  
“I don’t know Sherlock,” I answer wearily while attempting to dodge Sherlock's experiment on my way to the kitchen to make tea for myself and Sherlock.  
“I’m bored John,” he whines. The browning currently hanging between them, ignored in the consultants grip.  
“I hear you,” I groan. “Everyone on the block heard your boredom.”  
“Yes, well good on them. The meandering piles of predictability can use their ears! That doesn’t help me now does it,” Sherlock hisses. “Oh what do you know John, your mind is so simple. That must be oh so nice to never have to bear the burden of a clever thought,” Sherlock sneers and spits, waving his arms and pacing the living room that seems smaller than it is under the long strides of the youngest Holmes brother.  
“Sherlock,” I snap. I‘m fed up with his insatiable boredom and insulting me at every turn. I’ve had a long, taxing day and I don’t feel like dealing with the rantings of a mad man at the moment.  
“What,” He turns to face me, towering over me and seething. His voice dangerously low. The baritone rumbling in his chest as though he would growl if he could. I look up at his annoyingly close face. His pale gay eyes were dark. He hid it well but I can see the glassy, unshed tears in his eyes.  
“Oh Sherlock,” I groan, as exasporading as Sherlock is he doesn’t usually directly insult someone without being attacked first. He will spout facts and truths that someone might not want to hear or be reminded of but that’s because the genius is sometimes so socially inept that he can’t tell what’s appropriate or not. However he’s not usually outright insulting.  
“What? What do you want John,” he yells, throwing his hands up, still waving the Browning as though it were nothing more than his violin bow.  
“Sherlock it’s a bad day isn’t it,” I ask, cocking my head to the side. I really hope I’m not wrong with that kind of acusation. Though from the way that Sherlock freezes and drops the gun onto the living room table I’d say I did pretty well on a hunch. Sherlock doesn’t answer me though and goes to his room, the door shutting quietly behind him. I roll my eyes and pick my way through discarded experiments on my way to Sherlock’s room.  
“Sherlock,” I call, knocking and actively ignoring how it sounds like gunshots. The new holes in the wall still rattling in my ears.  
“Leave John,” he snapped.  
“No.”  
Why,” Shelock sounded desperate this time and I really did think about leaving him to collect himself. I knocked again.  
“Sherlock, please, may I come in,” I asked in lieu of answering his question. There was no answer this time. He was done discussing things apparently. I decide to try to doorknob instead of waiting to be invited. When it turned and the door swung open I almost wish it had been locked. There was a large lump in the bed and it was dark despite being midday. I saw full needles on the nightstand and I sigh. I wish I could do more for him but his addiction is a problem for another day.  
“Sherlock,” I say gently, moving to put a hand on his shoulder. The covers are abruptly thrown off and he stands up. I know what he’s doing, try to use his height to intimidate me. Not going to happen Holmes, sorry.  
“Leave,” He seethes wetly. The unwiped tears on his cheeks shock me somehow. Sherlock Holmes has built this air of invincibility around him that even I could be fooled by.  
“I won’t leave Sherlock.”  
“Why the Hell not,” he barks.  
“You’re my best friend you git,” I smile at him. He short circuits at that I think. He doesn’t move and even though his face stays quite pissed off I could see the gears turning in his head. I wait for the little circle to stop spinning.  
“Get out,” he says, surprising me. “I don’t need your companionship so leave John.” His voice sounds hollow. I smile sadly at him.  
“I won’t leave you, Sherlock.”  
“Yes,” He spits angrily. “Yes you will so get on with it.” Ok wait, does he really think I’m gonna leave him?  
“Ok Sherlock, why am I going to leave.” I ask sit on him bed, patting the space next to me. He sighs haughtily, taking a seat anyway.  
“Given the average amount of time anyone has been able to enjoy my company your time is running out and I am not ignorant enough to believe that I don’t frustrate you,” he makes it out to be the most obvious thing in the world but I didn’t know he thought this way about me.  
“Sherlock, what part of I not leaving do you do you not understand,” I ask with a smirk. “I don’t know who’s left y-”  
“Everyone,” he stands up. “Everyone John. The person I’m closest to other than you- George keeps me around because I’m useful, Mycroft can’t stand me, Mum and Da sent me away because I was different. So why are you different? Why do you stay,” he was screaming by the end of the speech and his long arms were gesturing erratically. I don’t bother correcting him about Greg, not George.  
“Shut up,” I try to cut him off. Standing up I walking over to him and put my hands on either side of his shoulders. “Look at me, Sherlock. Look at me. I’m not going to leave you.” The man is a human tuning fork and I can practically read his mind. Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone again. Please don’t lie. Give me a reason to believe you. Please don’t hurt me. “I’m an addict and it’s a habit I don’t plan on kicking anytime soon.”  
“Adrenaline junkie,” he growled as the curtain closed behind his eyes. “You use me for my lifestyle,” his face falls and the walls were being replaced. I wish I could take the thoughts, what I mean to say from my head and shove it so far into that thick head of his it becomes a centre piece in his mind palace.  
“No,” I groan, closing my eyes. “Sherlock, I care about you, you stupid git! I could walk away right now.” I didn’t mean for it come out like a threat but from the way he stiffens I can tell he took it as one. “I could. I don’t have to remind you to sleep and put food under your face when you get so involved with a case that you forget. Your career is important to you and yes it’s fun to join you but I do those things because I care about you as a person and as a detective Sherlock,” I know it’s more than I’d usually admit but hearing it may be the only way to make him believe me. Sherlock stares at me with his intense stormy gray eyes and I get the impression that this is his renowned analogical skills at work. I’m jealous of the corpses for not being able to feel it.  
When his face finally softened I assume he found whatever he was looking for in my face. He walked away from me and sat slumped on the edge of the bed. I watched him, waiting for him to speak but what I didn’t expect was his shoulders to start shaking. I watched the man I’ve grown to think of like a brother break apart when he’d sooner get shot than cry in front of anyone.  
“I don’t deserve it, John,” his voice creaking with more emotion than I’d ever heard from him before.  
“Bullshit,” I scoff, sitting down next to him. “May I touch you,” I ask. The man is uncomfortable with touch at the best of times and I don’t want to push him over the edge with something I think is a simple gesture of reassurance. Sherlock just nods and I put my hand on his back. To his credit he only stiffens a bit before relaxing into it.  
“Thank you, John,” he whispers almost to quietly for me to hear.  
“Anytime Sherlock,” I swear solemnly.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting anything let me know what you think! 
> 
> :)


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